Filament and Flash Bulbs
by Heath07
Summary: AU RyanSummer Getting away from Newport was the only thing on her mind... Being pegged a hero was not his plan... [Complete.]
1. 1

Title: Filament and Flash Bulbs (1/6)

Author: Heath07

Rating: PG-13/R-ish-swearing, sexuality

Summary: AU Ryan/Summer Getting away from Newport was the only thing on her mind... Being pegged a hero was not his plan...

Feedback: Yes, please.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, they belong to FOX and Josh Schwartz and a bunch of other people...

Notes: Please do not write a review just to tell me either Ryan or Summer should be with someone else. There will be 6 parts to this piece of fiction.

* * *

A day before her sixteenth birthday she bought a map and closed her eyes while she chose a destination. She waited until it was dark before making her great escape. It wasn't easy to sneak out of her window wearing three inch heals, but she'd managed. She'd been determined and she wasn't going to let a pair of Manolo Blahnik's get in the way of freedom. 

The bus ride had been hell. It was a hot Californian summer-not that there was any other kind-and that made the lack of air-conditioning all the more dreadful. Half-an-hour on the road and the whole bus smelled worse than the boys' locker room at school-Tanner Perry had brought her there to make-out after baseball practice, suffice it to say, it was not the ideal setting to make-out in. Didn't these people believe in deodorant...or showers, for that matter? A baby didn't stop crying the entire ride and the woman beside her kept poking her with a knitting needle and telling her how much she reminded her of her dead sister. Freaks. All of them.

No wonder her step-monster was always heavily medicated. The world was full of crazy people.

When the bus came to a stop and what little tolerance she had for people in general was completely gone, she decided she was far enough away from home not to be recognized.

Summer Roberts was beginning her new life.

And since starting a person's life over was a scary thing, the best way to go about it was to get rip-roaring drunk and stir up some trouble. That's why the first thing she did in Chino was find the closest bar.

The place she chose was dank and dirty. Smoke hung in the air and clung to the walls in thick tarry streaks. The tables were scattered. The music was loud. The people were...normal. The salt of the earth. Not the typical crowd she associated with, to say the least. She didn't expect to see neatly trimmed men wearing designer suits or fancy women with perfect manicures and colourful, short skirts, carrying Prada bags with a short-haired Chihuahua inside anytime soon. Here, the women wore their nails long and painted them streetwalker red. A month ago she would have took one look at the place and turned right back around and out the door. Now, though, she found it comforting. It was a place to hide.

Taking a seat at the bar, she waited for the bartender to take her order and tried to blend in. She felt the stares but she'd lived in Newport long enough to know that it was best to ignore them Resting her purse on the seat beside her, she propped her head in her hand and took her first breath of freedom. The top of the bar was sticky and scratched, it desperately needed a sanding and a new coat of varnish. She tried to be open, tried not to turn up her nose

A woman-long, slim features, a sharp nose and feline eyes-flirted with a patron at the end of the bar not yet noticing her. Summer didn't make it a priority to get her attention, instead opted to wait. When she finally looked over and pried herself away from the man, Summer could tell her presence was an inconvenience.

"What'll it be?" By the woman's clipped tone, she knew she'd been right. The intense blue cat eyes were a direct contradiction to her own dark ones. They were hardened and suspicious and she found it unsettling.

"Vodka, straight up." She didn't waver, figuring if she ordered like an expert no one would question her age.

The woman nodded and poured her drink. The glass was as dirty as the man at the end of the bar.

Eyeing the glass with distain, she looked up long enough to catch the attention of the bartender again. "Can I get another glass?" The eyes turned cold and she knew she'd gone too far. She always had to act like a fucking princess.

"You got I.D.?" the woman asked, annoyed. "I'm not gunna lose my liquor license over some snotty little rich girl."

She squirmed uncomfortably in the stool while the woman stared her down. Clearly, blending in was going to be a problem.

Summer felt someone come up behind her. She looked up startled. It was a man. His clothes were neat and clean-she could smell cheap aftershave-and his skin was weathered. There was something about him that seemed trustworthy. Had he been in a suit she might have changed her mind. There was something about men in suits that she didn't trust, probably because of all the men her father did business with -they dressed in expensive suits and slicked back hair and had shifty eyes. "It's all right, Layla, give 'er another one. On me." The man set down a twenty in front of her.

She would have refused had she not just realized that she didn't have the money to pay for the drink in the first place. This was not a time to let her pride get in the way.

The brim of the stranger's baseball cap was torn and flopping over one side. His eyes were hidden in shadow, even so she could tell they were light blue. She stared at his hands over the money. They were large, dry and cracked, his nails just a little bit dirty. She could suggest a good moisturizer, but she didn't think men like him used such frivolities.

She smiled at him. He smiled back and tipped his hat.

"Buy a couple on me, sweetheart. You probably need it more 'an I do."

Summer detected a hint of a Southern accent. He was like a real live cowboy. Only...he was broken. Used up. Moved to the city and had the cowboy ripped out of him, but they couldn't take away the Southern manners. She imagined up his life story: he'd been a wheat farmer and spent his weekends riding bulls until he missed a payment with the bank and the government took his land to plant tobacco fields, he couldn't find work after that so he packed up his wife and four starving children and moved to Chino... Even if it was far-fetched, Summer liked to believe at least some part of it was true...she'd always had a flare for the dramatic.

Summer felt her heart pull tight. The man reminded her of her grandfather on her mother's side. He was dead now. Had been for a long time. He'd been in the rodeo and travelled a lot. She hadn't gotten to see him much, but she recalled loving his visits. He always smelled like tobacco when he hugged her. A warm, familiar smell. She still had the ten gallon hat he'd brought her before he passed tucked away somewhere in her closet. It was pink and had an eagle feather at the side. It was the ugliest thing she'd ever seen. It'd never got much wear, but she counted it amongst one of her most valuable items.

Summer's father had always hated her grandfather. He wanted to forget where her mother came from. That she wasn't born of money. The poor had no place in Newport. And neither did she anymore.

"Thanks."

"See ya tomorrow, Layla."

"Night, Randy." Layla smiled at Randy and then turned her back on Summer, returning to the man at the end of the bar.

After that no one bothered her and she proceeded to drown her sorrows with half-a-dozen shots of Absolut Vodka 80 proof.

Drinking away her problems wasn't such a foreign concept to her. All the Newport brats did it at least once in their lives. There were too many expectations. Too much pressure. And not enough love to keep up the charade.

She was a spoiled little party girl. That was easy enough to admit to herself. Admitting that she hated who she was? _That_ was much harder. So, she drank. And it eased the pain. Dulled it. And she kept drinking to try to make it go away.

It was when she'd lost all her inhibitions and the clock above the racks of alcohol and fogged glasses had struck midnight that she hopped up on the bar, the catcalls and whoops of laughter only serving to encourage her. Even Layla seemed to derive some sort of amusement out of Summer's antics.

Her hands smoothed over her breasts, lingered a minute and then moved on toward her barely covered thighs. Her hips rushed back and forth to the music. Head swinging to and fro with the hard beat. All eyes were on her. She felt sexy. On display. Illuminated. She'd always liked being the centre of attention.

The music got louder and so did the men.

"Take it all off, honey," a man called from the back of the smoked-clouded room.

She ignored him. The rhythm had taken over. The alcohol had numbed everything. And she was lost.

* * *

Ryan Atwood had too many bad habits to break. 

Drinking. Smoking. Fucking random girls. All bad things to do. Things he would never give up.

A flame sparked from the match he struck against the grainy underside of the table. He used the fire to light his cigarette and then immersed it into the empty beer bottle in front of him. It was a bad habit and he knew he should quit. But he wouldn't.

He'd put in a full day down at the garage and then had headed out to the bars with the rest of the guys. Most of them had all ready gone home to their girlfriends and wives, so he was left alone. Not that he minded too much; he'd always been a loner.

A scan of the room brought about old faces, familiar faces and one new one.

He stopped.

Stared.

The girl at the bar looked unfamiliar. He'd never seen her before. He'd remember if he had. She wasn't the type to go unnoticed or the type to be in the seedy part of Chino in an even seedier bar.

Not with a body like that, young and tight. And not with lips the colour of blood, dark and rich, and skin, tanned and supple, breasts popping out of a barely done up shirt and a nice round ass concealed under a mini-skirt. It was almost indecent and on a lesser girl it would have been. Somehow she carried if off without appearing trashy. Not like one of those pinup girls--their lips filled with too much collagen and their breasts pumped with silicon, fake as a three dollar bills--the boys kept in the back beside the work schedule despite his boss, Randy's, attempt to disallow such material out of respect for his wife and his new found religion. This girl, however, was all real. Sometimes he thought about those pictures before he went to sleep and then dreamt about them. Tonight, though, he'd be thinking about someone else when he went to sleep. About her.

Dollar signs were written all over her and half the bar knew it. You don't just walk into a bar and act like Miss Prissy asking for special treatment because you don't know how things worked. She had that spoiled vibe and he could tell that Layla was more than a little jealous of all the attention she was getting. Poor Layla, always having the spotlight stolen from under her.

A fast song exploded from the radio and she climbed on the bar, evocatively swaying to the beat. Who she danced for he didn't know. It wasn't for anyone in this room, that was for sure. Maybe for herself. Maybe she got off on that sort of attention. Ryan smirked to himself. Maybe later he could get off with her...

He watched her flaunt her body, her clothing outlining every asset. She radiated like filament and flash bulbs, lighting up the room; an electric current that flowed through the air. Unconsciously, he licked his lips. She was underage, _that_ he could tell. A runaway, probably...if the bags by the door were any indication. Just another teen rebelling...which wasn't too far off from why he was there. Still, there was something about her.

Her dark eyes were closed, her eyelashes unmercifully long against her pale cheek. Her lips were slightly parted. Her body rotated, sinuously moving to the hard beats from the radio.

And God help him if he didn't want to jump up there, throw her down on the wet bar top, peel her shirt to her waist, separate her thighs and...

Her eyes popped open and she looked right at him. Held him. Toyed with him for a while, winked and looked away.

Before he could let in reason, his mouth started to water, his jeans got a little too tight. Maybe he could do more than just dream about her tonight...

The strains of cheering caught his attention; worried him.


	2. 2

2/6

* * *

Summer knew how to flirt. It was practically a right of passage where she came from. There were girls that got it wrong. One's who tried too hard or not enough. Sluts. Whores. Prudes. Cock-teases. Summer had the perfect blend between coyness and natural sex appeal. And she could work anyone.

Before she got a chance to really flirt-the way she was born to-someone pulled her down from the top of the bar. There was too much noise. Too much confusion. Too much alcohol in her system. The room was spinning. She couldn't decipher where she was being led or by whom.

The hands that grabbed her were sweaty and rough.

"Ew, get away from me!" she cried, indignant.

One minute she had been doing a sexy dance to entertain a bunch of drunks and make herself feel a little adventurous, a little out of control, and the next thing she knew she was being manhandled by some overweight beast with bad body odour.

Someone would stop him. She was confident in that, but as the seconds ticked by and his hold got tighter she wasn't as confident. They weren't just going to let him get away with this were they? All these people were witnesses, they'd seen what happened. Why weren't they doing anything? This was a mistake. She shouldn't have come here.

She tried to bat his hands away, tried to squirm off his shoulder where he carried her in a fireman's lift, but nothing worked. Suddenly she knew this wasn't a game anymore. All her fantasies about being in a dangerous place, doing dangerous things, had come to a head and she'd been vastly unprepared for the reality of it all. She sobered quickly.

"Put me down!" she screamed, wailing on the man's back with her childlike fists.

The man smacked her ass and she could hear the cheers all around. Tears prickled her eyes.

This was not happening. It couldn't be.

They were still moving and no one was doing anything to stop them. Why hadn't she just gotten drunk in her closet or slept with a frat boy instead of hopping on a bus and going as far as her twelve dollars and ninety-five cents would take her? The tears fell silently and she couldn't do a damn thing to stop them...or him.

The backdoor swung open and she landed with a thud in the darkened alley. The ground was wet and slippery. When she tried to get up a strong hand pushed her back down, tearing at her clothes. Her fingers scratched along the cold asphalt, she felt her nail snag and break. Reaching out, she grasped for something, anything, to help her out of this situation. She made the decision that this was not going to happen to her. She began to fight back. The second time she kicked and flopped around becoming more persist and angered. For that, she received a smack across the face. Her lips wobbled and she knew she was two seconds away from losing it, from balling like a baby...and much worse. God, she'd been so stupid. And now she was going to pay for it.

* * *

Why did he always have get himself involved? Why did he always make it his business when a woman was being treated unkindly? He wasn't a fucking White Knight, but he was going to rescue her anyway.

Stubbing out his cigarette, he pushed his way through the crowd and followed. Some asshole in a trucker hat blocked his way and he was forced to push him into a table to get to the back door.

It only took three blows to bring down the big man. One to the back and two to his face when he turned to see what was happening. The man was out cold. The girl had moved to the corner, huddled by the trash bins, tugging at her clothes. Visibly shaking, she looked up at him, tears rolling down her cheeks, smearing her make-up. He could see her breasts protruding from an off-white camisole as she breathed giant breathes and he had to avert his eyes.

She was expecting him to ask if she was okay, he knew that, but he couldn't control his temper...or his libido.

She needed to cover up.

Now.

"Were you trying to get yourself raped?!"

"I-I..." her cheeks were flushed and red, angry fingermarks tattooed her arms. "It's none of your business!" she answered with conviction but the tremble in her lower lip gave her away.

He smirked. She wasn't as tough as she tried to act. This girl probably had been tough as nails in her own neighbourhood. The bitch that everyone feared. He could tell she had a nice size chip on her shoulder. Here, things weren't so easy -especially for pretty little white girls trying to act older than they were.

"Come on," he said, reaching out his hand. She hesitated. He took a step closer and softened his voice, trying to reassure her. "I'm not going to hurt you."

It took her a minute to collect herself and then she took his hand and let him help her up. Her fingers were cool and soft inside his palm.

Now that the crisis was over he got his first good look at her. Christ, she couldn't have been more than sixteen and looked frightened as hell. He started to feel a little guilty for yelling at her. But only a little. What she'd done had been stupid. And stupid people pissed him off. They always had a way of dragging him into their shit.

"I'll take you to the hospital." His voice was low, soft. "Grab your stuff."

He knew she was too shaken to disagree.

Leading them away proved difficult when she tugged at his arm to bring him back. "Wait. I-I left my bags inside."

He rolled his eyes but held the door open for her regardless and started to follow her inside. She stopped inside the door, looked back at the man lying on the pavement and then looked him directly in the eye before quickly looking away.

Great. Just fucking great. Now she thought he was some type of hero.


	3. 3

3/6

* * *

Sitting in a chair, outside of almost see-through curtains, he heard the words 'Rape Kit' and his heart sunk to the bottom of his stomach. He knew he shouldn't have been so harsh with her. He should have at least asked if she was okay.

The last thing he wanted to do was spend his night in the E.R. with sick people, but he'd always been a sucker for beautiful women...and she was as beautiful as they came. Fuck. He knew this was going to end badly.

Pulling out a cigarette from his jacket, he was about to light it when he caught the no-smoking sign out of the corner of his eye. He plucked it from his mouth and stuffed it back into the pack.

Behind the curtain, the girl insisted to the doctor that she was fine. Ryan watched the shadows on the wall. When the nurse tried to get her to lay down to take a swab, she pulled the torn material of her blouse together, jumping off the examining table.

"I'm really okay," she stated with conviction.

And whether it was true or not, the nurse couldn't do a bloody thing about it. Ryan shook his head. She was a stubborn little thing. Tougher than he'd first pegged her to be. He admired that.

More timid when she pulled back the curtains, she made her way to him. He stood and handed her back her purse. The two suitcases-one small and another, slightly bigger--she'd come with were gone by the time they went back into the bar to retrieve them.

The only thing left to do now was to get her back to where she belonged, back to whatever money pit she'd clawed her way out of. And he had to do it fast...before she belonged here...before he wanted her to stay. He really was a sucker for damsels in distress.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

She looked sceptical. Not that he blamed her... How was she supposed to know who to trust after what she'd just been through?

"So I can drive you home," he explained.

She seemed to mull it over with slight panic in her eyes.

* * *

His blue-gray eyes looked dangerous but she wasn't afraid. It was the opposite. She felt strangely comforted, drawn to him. If he hadn't been there... She shuddered to think of what would have happened. She would have been just another statistic. Another victim. And he'd saved her. Somehow she knew she could trust him. Inexplicably. But she did not want to go home. Not now. Not ever.

This stranger was staring at her. Waiting. Waiting for her to tell her where she lived so he could take her back. Back to hell. Well, she had news for him because she wasn't going back. She'd kick him in the groin and run somewhere else if she had to.

Lying was like second nature to her. She lied about everything to get her way. And she wasn't about to stop now.

"New Jersey," she said, daring him to not believe her.

He laughed. Laughed right in her face. She resented it. Who was to say she wasn't from New Jersey?

Hand affixed to her hip, she glared at him. "What?"

He looked her up and down and if she'd never understood the word sensual before, she understood now. Because he looked at her like she was something he wanted. Not just as a sex object--she'd gotten that a lot--this was something different...something she couldn't quite define. Her skin tingled.

"If you're from Jersey than I'm the pope."

Summer refused to back down; she played along instead. "Great, because I have a lot of things to confess."

"I'm sure you do, " he said, dryly. He was unfazed. And she knew at that moment that he saw right through her and her games. "You should have said New York; I might have believed that. Try again."

Okay, even she wouldn't have believed it. New Jersey was a bad choice. "Iowa?"

"Nope."

"Canada?"

He sighed. "Things'll go a lot quicker if you just tell me the truth."

It was her turn to sigh. It had been a long time since anyone cared about the truth. "Newport," she mumbled.

His eyes widened and his pupils dilated. "Newport? What the hell are you doing in Chino?"

"I ran away." She bit her lip, shocked by the taste of blood in her mouth.

"You ran away?" He laughed, reigning it in when she scowled at him. "What could possibly be that bad that would make you run away?" When she didn't answer right away, he persisted. "Huh, Princess?"

Wrapping her arms around her body, she shifted her weight and shrugged. "I wanted to see if anyone would notice I was gone."

"Did they?" His eyes were intensely blue as he stared at her. It made her shiver. There was a story behind those eyes, something dark and painful.

She looked him over. For the first time noticing how young he looked; he couldn't have been much older than she was. She wouldn't call him handsome, not in the traditional sense, not with his ripped t-shirt and dirty jeans -nothing soap and new clothes wouldn't fix. Here she was being shallow again. Hadn't she wanted to escape all of that? Still, there was something alluring, something tantalizing that went beyond his state of attire. She'd never been one to look for inner beauty, but there was something beautiful about him and his broken blue eyes. Something she wanted to mend. For the first time, in maybe her whole life, she wasn't afraid to tell the truth.

"No."

This time there was no laughter but she stiffened like she expected there to be. They stared at each other until she had to blink and then he looked away. He pitied her now.

"Got anywhere to go? A place to stay?"

She hadn't thought this through because, no, she didn't have anywhere to go. She'd spent the last of her money on a chocolate bar at the bus depot while she waited to take off. The rest of her cash had gone toward a fake I.D.-it looked authentic so she hadn't minded too much. All she had on her was the change from the twenty the man at the bar had given her. And nothing else. No food. No job. No hope.

"You got friends here? Family, maybe?" he persisted.

Resigning, she shook her head no.

* * *

Ryan sighed. God, he hoped she wasn't going to cry again. He couldn't take much more of that.

He knew he was in far too deep to turn her away now. Why did he always get himself into these messes?

"Come on," he said and began to walk down the hallway, not looking back to see if she was following or not. There was no way the bike was going to make it to Newport tonight, there was barely enough gas for the ride home as it was. And now he was going to have to put her up for the night because he had to go and be a good Samaritan. He just hoped he could keep it that way. There were no hero points for taking advantage of a fragile little thing like her.

"Where are we going?" He heard her ask as she caught up to him, her heels clacking on the tiled floor, grating against his ears.

"You can crash at my place for the night and then tomorrow we'll get your ass back to Newport where it belongs, Princess," he said over his shoulder, not catching the glare she sent him.

He led them to the parking lot and hugged a sleek motorcycle between his thighs while he waited for her to mount the back.

She hesitated. "How do I know you're not some psycho serial killer?"

Ryan snickered. "You don't."

Apparently that was good enough explanation for her because her little manicured hand grabbed his shoulder and used it for leverage.

"Hold on tight, Princess," he taunted, knowing by the way she tightened her grip that it annoyed her.

"Don't call me that!" she said, sounding wounded.

He looked back at her, smirking. "Why? That's what you are. A little rich girl slumming to get her kicks. But the problem with snotty little teases is that sometimes people take them seriously, just like that guy tonight. You can't tell me you don't know what you look like in that skirt."

He swore she stopped breathing and he didn't have to look a her to know her face was flushed.

"Maybe I am just a tease... Or maybe the wrong guy took me seriously," she countered, her voice getting husky.

He expected her to be angry. To get off the bike and get away from him. To slap him. To do _something_ like that. But he hadn't expected her to transform into a seductress.

Ryan shook his head. The girl didn't know when to quit.

When she settled, she leaned forward and whispered -in a voice he knew she hadn't meant to still be sexy but that didn't diminish its power, "I'm Summer."

The front of his jeans felt tight. "Ryan," he said, a little bit gruff, handing her the helmet.

"Thanks for saving me, Ryan." She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.

Fuck. He was in trouble. Big time.


	4. 4

4/6

* * *

Money didn't bring happiness. Whoever said it did had to either be a fucking idiot or one step away from the nuthouse. All money had ever done for Summer was bring problems. Everything wrong in her life could be tracked back to money...and her father -which were really two of a kind. Until she was three she'd called the gardener daddy and when she was old enough Mastercard and Visa had filled the role quite nicely.

When her mom finally did the smart thing and off-ed herself, Summer was still in diapers and it wasn't like she'd been the perfect role-model anyway. People still gossiped about the whole thing. Her father's affair -ultimately leading to marriage- with her step-mother, who'd only been eighteen at the time and barely out of highschool...her mother's stints in the psychiatric ward...her father's malpractice suits... All of it out there for everyone to laugh at during Sunday dinner. It had been the talk of the town. And she hated it. Hated being looked upon as the 'poor, neglected child.' Because she was. Neglected. Ignored. Invisible. At least to him. And she hated him for it.

So she left and didn't look back.

And now she was miles away from Newport and she still couldn't get away from the pitying stares of strangers.

They pulled up to a small one-level house, Ryan cut the ignition and helped her off the bike. She teetered and he grabbed her waist to steady her, the heat of his hands singeing her skin.

He went to move away but she held his hands to her.

"Don't feel sorry for me," she said, a little desperate. For reasons she couldn't understand, she wanted his approval. Wanted him to know that she wasn't some unfortunate kid he had to feel sorry for. She was too strong for that.

He squinted. "I don't."

She bowed her eyes. "I saw the way you were looking at me."

He smirked, she could see it from the corner of her eye. "It wasn't out of pity," he said and cut the space between them in half.

Summer looked up. His eyes were dark, getting darker by the second and she could see the moon reflected in them. "Then wha...oh. _Oh_!" she clued in and at the same time leaned forward, pressing her chest against his.

He was solid muscle. Firm under her fingertips when she reached out to touch him. She thought she was a good flirt, that she knew everything there was to know about sex...but something told her she didn't know a fraction of what he would be able to teach her...and, even more surprising, she wanted him to. Right here. On the front porch under the blinking street lamp.

She smiled. It was the smile she'd learned in seventh grade just before she kissed a boy for the first time. It drove guys nuts and she hoped it would work on him, too. "Then I should thank you." Her voice was husky, she was pulling no stops. Throwing caution to the wind. That had been the whole point of running away, hadn't it? To prove that she wasn't just another minion following the crowd.

"For what?" He was pressed up against her now and she could feel all of him. _All_ of him. His mouth hovered over hers, his breath heating her lips. Heat seethed around them, filling every inch of space between their bodies.

She responded by letting her lips touch his, soft at first and then with more urgency. Teeth and lips and tongue working in ways she hadn't known she was capable of until he showed up and made her aware. So very aware. Faintly, she could taste cigarettes and beer as his mouth worked with hers, drawing responses she didn't know she had in her. She moaned and felt him smile against her lips as he kissed her deeper, taking control. Taking over everything. She let him. Let him take anything he wanted from her.

This kind of feeling was what she'd been searching for her entire life. This feeling of life. Of being alive. And being in a moment so completely with someone else that she could read his thoughts...angling and dipping deep into a vacant world she had only just gained access to. Something she had never encountered before. He was letting her in. Showing her. Allowing her to explore and find herself in him, with him. Bowing to his whims and then taking for herself. This had been the type of danger she had been looking for.

She kissed him for as long as she could hold her breath...her lips numb by the time she pulled away. She was pleased to find him out of breath, too.

His eyes were so dark. So dark and feral that she just wanted to taste him again and again and forget about everything.

Ryan was looking at her expectantly, the heat in his eyes not diminishing. He took a step back and that seemed to help.

She'd almost forgotten to answer his question. What was it again? Oh yeah, why was she thanking him.

"I was looking for danger, for something different... You're both." She smiled, feeling her cheeks heat, half from embarrassment, the rest from arousal. "Oh, and for not taking me back," she finally stated, winded.

Nodding, he accepted that answer. Unlocking the door with one hand, he took hers with the other, leading her inside. "Come on, let's take this inside. Half the neighbours are probably watching. It'll be more private."

"Don't you have parents?" she said and then clamped her hand, the one he wasn't holding, over her mouth like she couldn't believe she'd said it out loud.

He shrugged. "Sometimes."

Summer let it go. She knew that meant he didn't want to talk about it. Ryan dropped her hand to pick up the mail from the table and flipped through it. A minute later he threw it all back down in a messy pile.

They made it into the bedroom without touching each other and that had been enough time for him to cool off, apparently.

He didn't look at her when he spoke. "You can take the bed.... I'll take the floor."

"What? I thought..." She stood awkwardly beside the bed, watching him throw blankets and pillows around to create a little nest for himself on the floor. The tension in her body was not going to go away on its own. They both knew that. And they were both still rife with sin.

Ryan cleared his throat. "I have work in the morning," he said in lieu of explanation.

Summer knew what he was doing. He was giving her a reprieve, letting her back out of something they both knew she wasn't ready for and it made her want him more. Or maybe he was calling her bluff...knew she was in way over her head just like she had been on top of the bar, dancing to ease the pain. Whatever his intentions, she didn't care because she wasn't sure she could make the first move again...not when she knew it would lead to things she had never experienced before. It wasn't the way she'd planned on losing her virginity, but he made her want it to be.

* * *

He had to remind himself that Summer was an innocent, young and too damn naive for her own good despite all her bravado...and the way she kissed. She didn't know guys like him. Even if she had started it, he knew she hadn't wanted to go as far as it would if he didn't put space between them...if he hadn't stopped touching her. Because he was dangerous. And in danger of doing something reckless and stupid. After the night she'd had... It just didn't feel right.

And now he was going to give up his bed for the little Diva Princess because if he didn't...he would take that innocence away. And he didn't want that on his conscience.

The girl was filthy rich. He didn't know much about designer labels or fancy boutiques that sold panties for fifty bucks a pop. So it wasn't that. It wasn't what she wore. It was the way she smelled. She smelled rich. Sort of floral, like in the spring when all the flowers started to bloom. God, he'd be laughed out of Chino if people knew what he was thinking. Flowers and springtime? That was sissy shit. The kind of crazy talk that got your ass beat down.

He didn't know anything about this girl. But he knew enough to know she was bad for him. That she could destroy him if he let himself be seduced by her eyes...by what he saw there. Because she was going to get bored. And she was going to leave. And he'd still be here. Alone.

Lonely.

He had nothing to offer her. Who was he? Just some punk kid trying to make the mortgage payments while his father rotted away in jail, his brother ran drugs through Mexico and his mother...well, he wasn't quite sure where his mother was this time. It didn't matter, it still didn't change the fact that he was no good for her. Not good enough.

Summer sat on the bed, watching him. He looked up from the blankets he'd been arranging and rearranging for the past five minutes and finally met her eyes. "Aren't you tired?"

He knew that it was a stupid question. She was probably just as wired and horny as he was. She crossed her legs and he caught the slightest hint of pink panties as she did so. He swallowed hard. Being the nice guy wasn't all it was cracked up to be. In fact, it sucked.

It wasn't like he'd never taken home a woman for the night before. But she wasn't a woman. She was a girl. And it would do him well to remember that. Even if he was probably going to explode sometime during the night because his dick was _that _hard.

Settling back on the blankets, he closed his eyes and prepared for a sleepless night. The mattress squeaked as Summer shifted. He refused to open his eyes.

"Ryan?" she called softly.

"Hmm?" She hesitated so he cracked open his right eye. She was staring at him. "Summer?"

"I-I just wanted to say goodnight," she answered quietly and laid down, still facing him.

"'Night," he muttered and rolled away. Fuck it to hell, tomorrow was never going to come.


	5. 5

5/6

* * *

Summer was crying. _That_ he could tell. What for, he had no clue. She was probably thinking about that bastard that tried to...he couldn't even think about it. Not that he blamed her, but why was it that women were always crying around him? It was the same with Theresa every time she and Eddie got into a fight.

The heat had broken and a gentle breeze was coming in from the open window, but the air was thick and stained with tension. Ryan's nerves were shot. It was bad enough trying to sleep with Summer in his bed, tossing and turning and making his thoughts go to places that would possibly frighten her if she got a look at them, but now he had to listen to the strains of her shuddering breaths as she tried to smother her tears.

It must have been something awful because she was really going at it. Just weeping into his pillow on the bed.

Knowing it was a bad idea, but not caring, Ryan threw the blankets off his lower body and got to his knees. Summer's back was toward him and her shoulders were shaking with muted sobs.

Christ.

He touched her shoulder, his fingers just barely brushing her skin. She startled. "Ryan?"

"What's wrong?" He kept his voice at a whisper.

Summer closed her eyes and took a deep, unnatural breath. "N-Nothing. I'm sorry, I just.... I can't help it. Even if I _could_ explain it, I don't think you'd understand."

Ryan tilted his head to the side, studied her. She was shaking.

He made a decision. Damn him if he wasn't going to at least_ try _to take the hurt away. Tugging on the covers, he got into bed next to her and pulled her against his chest. Rubbing her back, he whispered in her ear, "There's no harm in trying, huh?"

* * *

Crying had never been her thing. She just wasn't a crier. Locking up her feelings and emotions had always been her motto but one day in Chino and she was a blubbering mess.

It would be easier to explain if her father was a cruel man. If he beat her or locked her in the basement. Something evil, maniacal. But it wasn't like that, not really. The only thing her father ever locked her out of was his life. And he hadn't touched her since her fourth birthday, not even for a quick hug. So she really didn't know why she was crying.

Ryan's fingers moved under her shirt, rubbing circles on her back. It tingled. His hands were a little rough with callouses but it felt nice on her bare skin. Tonguing away a briny tear, she pressed her ear against his broad chest and listened to the beat of his heart. It was a steady, strong rhythm.

He wasn't like the Newport boys. The ones that just wanted to cop a feel and gloat about it the next day. He actually wanted to hear what she had to say, at least that was how he came across. She could be wrong, but she didn't think she was. He wasn't so dangerous. They weren't so different.

"It's just...my dad...my step-mother..." she took in a breath. "They just...my dad, he's never around... and no one cares. No one...No one notices anything..." She took in another deep breath, calming herself. "Do you ever feel like your life...like it's just going nowhere? Like you're looking at it...and waiting for something big to happen and then you realize this is it, this _is_ your life? I guess that's why I left, why I ran away. I just needed to get out of there."

Ryan was silent.

Summer laughed in a way that wasn't meant to be humourous and then broke into a full-blown giggle. She laughed the way only rich girls laugh. The way she'd been taught. Politely, even if what was said wasn't all that funny. And for a split second she regretted everything.

"I don't even know what I'm saying. Forget it," she said and swiped the tears off of her cheek.

Ryan pulled her hand away and took over, brushing the last droplets away. "Shh... No, no. I just...I know what that feels like."

"Ryan?" she asked, raising her head.

"Hmm?" he said, sleepily, keeping up his light touch.

The light from the house next door cut into the room landing on Ryan's nose and full mouth. Resisting the urge to kiss him, she settled back into his arms. It was warm and comfortable. It occurred to her how fast she had gotten used to him. To this. "This feels right, doesn't it? I-I feel like I belong here."

She could feel him nod, but he didn't answer.

Pressing herself closer still, she smelled him -cigarettes, beer and sweat and underneath all that the barest hint of soap- and it was familiar now. It was Ryan. "Maybe everything that happened tonight was supposed to."

"Maybe," he agreed, touching her hair. It felt so good. Her eyes began to feel heavy and the beat of his heart under her ear was lulling her to sleep. It felt right. It really did.

* * *

When Summer woke the first thing she realized was that she was alone, the second thing she realized was that she had no clue where the fuck she was. There was momentary confusion as she unravelled herself from the cheap, but clean, blankets around her. The sun blazed inside, making the tiny room an oven. The light was harsh against her eyes, making everything come out blurred. Sweat travelled down her back and she squinted out the window. It didn't offer any indication of her location. When she tried to sit up her head pounded and she remembered the shots of vodka she'd consumed the night before. Aspirin and lots of water sounded like a good idea.

The events of the previous night began to trickle into her brain. She looked beside her. Ryan was already gone. It was disappointing. It left her feeling like she was missing something.

Trying to stand, dizziness consumed her. She grabbed the bedside table for support. She was used to slamming back the drinks. As Newport's most notorious party girl, it was a requirement. But she'd forgotten to pace herself. She was paying for it now.

Cracking open the door, she listened for sounds. There was nothing. The house was empty.

Slowly, she eased out of the room and down the dark hallway toward where she suspected the bathroom would be. Inside, she opened the medicine cabinet, surprised to find everything neat and tidy. A bottle of Advil stared back at her and she took it out, dumping a few pills into her palm. She chased the pills down with water cupped in her hands and then stashed the bottle away.

When she looked in the mirror, she was mortified to find that her mascara had run and her face was bruised. Her eyes were ringed in thick black circles along with long streaks from where she'd cried. Finding a washcloth in the cupboard, she dabbed at her swollen lip and winced as the sting sent a shock through her. No wonder Ryan had stopped last night. She looked like a train wreck. When her face was clean, she exited the bathroom and went back to the room she'd spent the night in.

There were a few shirts hanging up in the closet, she pulled one out and removed her own torn blouse. The one she chose was too big so she tied it at the waist and fiddled with the sleeves until it looked presentable. Rummaging through the dresser drawers she found a pair of shorts that weren't too big and decided they'd have to do. Shimming out of her skirt, she slipped them on and took a relaxed breath.

In the living room, Summer rifled through Ryan's mail until she found an address for his work. Excitement flooded her.

* * *

Ryan had been getting flack all day. Layla had a big fucking mouth. Somehow he didn't think Eric Clapton had this Layla in mind when he wrote that song. No wonder she had men on their knees, they were probably begging her to shut the fuck up. After everything had gone down last night and he'd taken Summer back to get her stuff, rumours were spreading around the shop like wildfire. He'd heard just about enough. Everyone was too fucking nosy for their own good. He kept his nose clean, did his job, minded his own damn business. So why did everyone have to meddle with his life?

"Hey Atwood, I heard you took that little brunette number home with you last night. She was hot, man."

Great, another moron trying to live vicariously through him. Ryan gritted his teeth. His temper was roiling. The whole White Knight thing also applied to protecting a woman's honour.

"So what, you hit that or not?" the gear-head continued, oblivious to the look Ryan was shooting him.

He was two seconds away from pounding the guy when, from the corner of his eye, he saw the swish of female hips. Lifting his eyes, he noticed that those hips were attached to a petite body with solid features he'd gotten to know the night before. Watching her progress, he knew he hadn't learned them intimately enough. Summer had come out of nowhere, storming past a bunch of old tires and a Ford getting a new transmission and walked right up to the two men. Her smile was sly.

She addressed the darker man in greasy overalls. "He pleasured me beyond my wildest dreams. Several times, in fact."

Ryan looked at her like he couldn't believe the things coming out of her pretty little mouth before he caught himself and smirked. He stared at her with something like desire in his eyes.

Summer turned, pushed him against the hood of the car he'd been fiddling with and smiled reassuringly.

Then she kissed him.

Kissed him hard and kissed him good. Until he couldn't breathe; her lips blocking out oxygen and the need to think. Until he had a raging hard-on that was not going to go away on its own. Until everyone else backed out and left the garage and they were left alone, his hips pressed intimately against hers, his hands halfway inside her top, his brain just about ready to explode. Only then did she pull away and smile innocently.

Ryan still had the flavour of apples on his tongue when he spoke. "You're going to get me fired," he said, laughing. It felt good to laugh; he hadn't done it in a long time.

Ryan hadn't expected her to track him down. He'd expected to come home later that day and find her gone, regrets and apologies scribbled down on a note he'd find a week later. But she was here...and she was wearing his shirt.

Summer stepped back, her cheeks flushed, her dark eyes black with arousal. "Well, that worked." And as quick as it came, the tough-girl act was gone and the real Summer he'd seen the night before, the one that wasn't as badass as she tried to be, reappeared. "Is your boss a hard-ass? Should I go?"

It took a moment for Ryan to answer. Subtly, he tried to shift his pants so his erection wasn't so noticeable. He cleared his throat, taking out a cigarette from his breast pocket. "Nah, Randy's cool. Stay."

"Okay," she said simply. Shifting her weight, she smiled and he detected a little nervousness on her part. "So, you're, like, a mechanic?"

"I'm training to be," he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke to the side.

Summer nodded, looking around the garage. "So... what time do you get off?"

That was a loaded question if he ever heard one. He'd gotten off in the shower that morning....that information was best kept to himself though.

"Three," he answered instead.

She checked her watch. It looked expensive. "Oh, it's almost three now." Summer perked up as if suddenly realizing something. "We should do something. Go shopping or to dinner..."

Ryan grimaced. "I don't shop."

"I've got credit cards," she insisted, attempting to persuade him.

He had to laugh at her enthusiasm. "You really are a Princess, aren't you?"

There was a moment of hesitation, she shifted her eyes and then, "It's my birthday."

"No shit?"

"Yeah, no shit." She smirked. "And, as much as I love wearing your clothes," she said, pulling at the starched cotton material exposing a little of her cleavage, "I need some that fit."

Well, he couldn't argue with that.


	6. 6

carpanthers21- Yes, exactly. Same year, different circumstances. It's summer, let's say August ('cause I do believe that's when Summer's birthday was mentioned on the show). ;) Hope that helps.

6/6

* * *

This morning when Summer checked her purse for lipstick, she found her father's credit cards. How had she forgotten about them? It didn't matter now. There was shopping to be done.

On Summer's Top Ten List of Things To Do, shopping was number one. It was her favourite activity in the whole world, second only to tanning and waxing. And she was good at it. She could spot a bargain from the food court -the smell of grease and pizza heavy with oregano, unable to distract her. It was almost too easy for her to find her size just by feeling the fabric. And carrying large stacks of boxes had never been a problem. But since Ryan was with her, she didn't have to. He looked odd trailing after her with bags and parcels tucked under his biceps and it made her giggle in a way she hadn't since she was a little girl.

Her father was getting her a car for her birthday. A black BMW. She'd seen the bill. It would have been a great present. It wasn't what she wanted. She'd hinted-casually and then not so casually-that what she wanted most for her birthday was time with him. Two weeks. One week. A day. Just some quality time like they'd never had before. So they could get to know each other. So she could stop feeling like she was living with strangers. All she got was a blank stare. Shopping helped take her mind off the hurt she felt.

She could tell Ryan was hating every minute of it. Every grunt and sigh when she modelled for him got hoarser and longer. She knew some of that was frustration. She had eyes; she could see what she was doing to him...and she loved it. There had never been a time when she'd had this much power before. Not even in middle school when she was the first in her class to develop breasts and all the boys ignored the other girls on the playground to talk to her.

Ryan was not a boy and she was pretty sure looking at her breasts was the least of his plans. There was something about Ryan, about the way that he looked at her, that made her feel sexy.

There was something about him that allowed her to shed the layers of bitchiness she'd adopted a long time ago to help her cope with all the Newport brats. It was refreshing. She'd found someone she could be herself with. And that was sexy.

* * *

On Ryan's Top Ten List of Things To Do, shopping had never been first. In fact, it'd never made the list. Then again, he'd never been shopping with Summer Roberts. The girl knew how to shop. And she took it seriously. It was like a sport. It only served to remind him how different they were; that they came from completely different places. She'd already bought up half the clothes in Chino and showed no signs of slowing down.

Summer liked to model for him, twirl around and do a short, seductive variation of the dance that had made her so popular at the bar the other night. And she was driving him fucking insane with all the bloody short tops and barely-there skirts. She was trying to kill him. He was sure of it.

"...thanks. Could you ring these up for me; I just want to try on one last dress," Summer said to the salesclerk. "Ryan, can you come in here a minute? I need a little help," she said as she breezed past him.

Ryan smirked. Sure she did. This could lead to trouble.

He followed anyway.

No sooner had they gotten into the small change room than she had him pinned against the wall, her hands under his shirt, scratching down his abdomen. For a moment he considered her flare for danger, that this, making out in a change room where anyone could catch them, was all part of her journey in thrill seeking but then her leg came up and wrapped itself around him, pressing them intimately close and it didn't matter. If she wanted danger, he was going to give it to her.

Their lips came together in a searing kiss. She tasted like the ice cream he'd watched her eat earlier in the food court with aching, slow licks. Sweet. Rich. Decadent. Just like her. But cool against his hot mouth. Cool and saccharine.

Swallowing her sighs and moans, he kissed her in a way he hadn't kissed anyone in a while...like he meant it. He meant every slide across her lips with his tongue...every dip into her cool mouth...every soft bite on her chin and the length of her neck. He touched her back, lifting her shirt at the base of her spine and finding her flesh warm. She shivered, drew into him. God, she really was killing him. With reluctance, he pulled away.

"Hey," he said, looking at her. He pushed the hair out of her eyes, touching her smooth face and let his fingers linger. Smiling the first truly happy smile he'd had in a long time, Ryan pulled her close. "Happy birthday."

* * *

God, she wanted this moment to last forever. It was the best birthday she'd ever had and that was saying a lot considering the extravagance usually equated with her birthdays. But this was special. Ryan was special. And she felt special in his arms.

Nothing could take this away...

There was a knock on the change room door. "Miss Roberts?"

Except that.

She mouthed 'busted' to Ryan and straightened out. There was nothing more embarrassing than being caught dry humping in the middle of a department store. Or so she imagined.

Summer scrunched up her nose. She tried to keep her voice even and steady. "Yes?"

"There's someone here asking for you."

Her stomach dropped. "Okay, thanks. I'll, uh, I'll be out in a minute."

Oh, God. How the hell had she been found? Fuck. The credit cards. She knew using them had been a mistake. Shitshitshit. Her father must have hired someone to find her. Which was surprising considering she'd only been gone a few days. She thought it would take him at least a week to realize she was gone. Still, it gave her a little thrill to know that she'd been missed. And then she looked at Ryan and realized that now she _really_ didn't want to be found.

"It's probably my father," she said quietly to Ryan.

Ryan's face was unreadable. She wished she knew him better so she could gauge his reaction, but he gave nothing away. "What do you want to do?"

Her head was muddled with thoughts and uncertainty. This had been what she wanted, wasn't it? To have her father start to give a crap; to realize she existed. Still, she hadn't planned on meeting Ryan...or falling for him. It had all been a surprise. How could two days change her life so much?

"Summer?"

She bit her lip in concentration. "I don't know."

Ryan took her hand, opened the change room door and walked out into the store, making the decision for her.

Summer's mouth opened, but no sound came out. She'd expected to see her father. His arms open, waiting for her to fall into them and forgive him for being such a jerk. She had been remiss in thinking that. It wasn't her father and it wasn't her step-monster or a relative of any kind. It was her father's secretary, Shirley, waiting by the door.

Shirley smiled warmly at the pair. "Summer. I'm from your father's office, he sent me to collect you."

Collect her? What, was she a fucking trading card all of a sudden?

Summer leaned against a rack of clothes, absently pushing the hangers along the metal poll. She looked as insecure as she felt. "Why didn't he come himself?"

"Summer, you know how busy your father is."

The anger that she'd been harbouring her whole life erupted in the most sincere way. "He sent his secretary! No offence, _Shirley_," she said her name with distain, rolling her eyes to keep the tears that had gathered there from falling, "but I thought I would at least rate a Private Investigator or _something_. This is bullshit. Complete bullshit!"

Maybe it was wrong to take it out on someone else, in fact, she knew it was, but she couldn't help it. "He cares, honey." Shirley's hand was pressed against the door, white from the pressure. "In his own way," she added, almost as an afterthought.

"Does he? Because as far as I can tell, all he cares about is money and sex and since I'm no good for either one..." she trailed off, she really didn't know what else there was to say. There was a vent above her head blasting cold air. It cooled Summer right down to her bones and she shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

"There's a car waiting outside." Summer looked. Sure enough, there was a stretch limo with a driver in the parking lot. She looked to Ryan, but he was looking at the ground, expression blank.

She shook her head. "I won't go. You can't make me go."

"Summer, dear," Shirley began, sympathetically, then her face clouded with guilt. "I have instructions to call the police for assistance if you don't come willingly. Please don't make me do that. I'll-I'll wait in the car...give you a chance to say good-bye."

Summer looked at the ground, her eyes fixed to a stain in the yellowing carpet.

Ryan cleared his throat beside her. "Maybe it's for the best."

She hadn't heard him approach and now that he was inches away he felt very far off, like she could reach out and he'd disappear. She tugged on his shirt, hoping physical contact could somehow change the look in his eyes and make the ache in her heart stop. "You want me to go? Please, Ryan. _Please_. Don't let me go."

He took her hand, warmed it, let his thumb pass over her knuckles in soothing strokes. "Summer."

"Ryan."

"You don't belong here. I can't give you what you need. Go." He was trying to spare her; spare her from him and this life. But she didn't want to be spared. She didn't want to be treated like the rich little princess she had been her whole life. She just wanted....she wanted... What did she want?

Dammit, she wanted _Ryan_. And only Ryan and nothing was as important. Nothing had ever been as important.

"I'll run away again," she whispered instead of being angry; instead of crying. She didn't know how to say what she wanted, so she looked into his eyes, deep down where she saw the splintered parts of herself reflected back and spoke without words.

"I'll be here," he whispered back, just as softly.

He kissed her. Slow. Soft. Sensual. It made her feel grown up. She wasn't the same girl he'd rescued.

"Promise?"

Ryan didn't make promises, somehow she knew that, but for her...for her he'd make an exception. "Promise," he said, adding with a smile, "Princess."

Summer went, reluctantly.

The next time she ran, she knew she'd be running _to_ something instead of running _from_ something. She'd be running to Ryan. She'd be running home.

end.


End file.
